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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216923">Ethnochoreology</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar'>Elenothar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>4th age Valinor, Gen, Researcher!Finrod, Slice of Life, dance customs of middle-earth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:08:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod decides to make a study of the dance customs of different races. Being Finrod, this involves accosting as many people to be nosy in the general direction of as possible.</p>
<p>Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2020.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ethnochoreology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gift fic for [to be revealed later]. I hope you enjoy it, niche as this has turned out to be!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Finrod hadn’t set out to conduct a comparative study into the different dance practises in the realms of Arda, much like he hadn’t set out to make a study of human languages or cave building or the way his family seems to implode once every millennium or so. Yet his notebooks somehow inevitably end up thick with jotted notes of just such a nature.</p>
<p>Now that he had finally recreated most of them from memory and his delightful nephew Elrond had brought a handful of preserved copies that had escaped several sackings and at least one kinslaying, he supposes he has the time to formalise some of his observations.</p>
<p>(People generally have nothing <em>but </em>time in Valinor, although Finrod’s official status as crown prince does eat into his somewhat, which his father is still apologetic about several hundred years on.)</p>
<p>He finds he has notes on the evolving styles of dancing in Nargothrond, collected throughout the entirety of his rulership there, alongside accounts of Doriathrin dancing, some meagre observations on the elves of the Falas (grudgingly aided by Círdan at the time) and some miscellaneous anecdotes about traditions of the grey elves in the western areas of Beleriand. More excitingly, he has several precious (and hard-won) paragraphs on dwarf dancing and a whole chapter’s worth of observations on the music and dances of the Edain.</p>
<p>Surrounded by notebooks and piles of paper, he eventually decides he needs to alter his approach.</p>
<p>Observations are good, but first-hand accounts are <em>better</em>.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It starts with the hobbits, as many things seem to, these days. For creatures that small, they’ve made rather an impact in the goings-on of Valinor, which delights Finrod to no end. He can’t help wishing that he’d met one of the curious folk in Middle-earth before his death, but has been roundly told that hobbits haven’t <em>been around that long, oh dear me no</em>. Bilbo and Frodo are good company at any rate, brew a mean cup of tea, and never seem to mind his endless questions about their history and culture.</p>
<p>They also have very intriguing notions, including the celebration of a ‘birthday’ each year, which Frodo and Bilbo happen to share. Going by their accounts, it’s an indispensable part of hobbit life and with the renewed vigour brought by life in the Undying Lands, the elder of the hobbits has decided he wants to thank Elrond for long years of excellent hospitality and friendship. How they had come to the conclusion that throwing a 6000-year-old elf a birthday party is the way to do so is still a point of bafflement to Finrod, but they’re so sincerely enthusiastic about the concept that he immediately agrees to help when they strategically mention it to him.</p>
<p>They already got the actual date of Elrond’s birth out of Eärendil, who seems inclined to sit back and watch the shenanigans happen, revealing that they only have around two weeks to prepare.</p>
<p>Finrod knows enough about hobbits to confidently predict that the most important part of a hobbit birthday party is going to be food, and lots of it.</p>
<p>But it’s the discussion of appropriate music and dancing to create a festive atmosphere that really makes him perk up.</p>
<p>“How <em>do</em> hobbits dance?” he asks, already reaching for the notebook and pen in his pocket. “I’m imagining a joyful affair. What instruments accompany dances? Do you only dance during festivities?”</p>
<p>Only when Frodo hides his smile behind his teacup does Finrod remember that he’s supposed to limit his questions to one or two at a time. He bows his head. “My apologies – dance and music are topics of particular interest to me.”</p>
<p>He spends the next two hours drinking tea and hearing all about jigs, various dance styles designed to display feet in a most advantageous light, and swaying couples’ dances to small instrument groups, usually consisting mostly of fiddles and flutes.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on Noldorin dance customs:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Noldorin dance has evolved in a variety of ways from its homogenous tradition in Valinor before the exodus. Different Noldor kingdoms in Beleriand diverged in tradition – although all dances seem to remain on the more overtly energetic side, compared to other elves – and, most fascinatingly, continue to diverge now that most of us have been reborn in our old home. The most distinctive branch of dance to come from our toils and troubles in Arda is the weapons dance. I believe this to have grown out of the wish of many Noldor to keep practising some sort of weaponry even as we now live in peace. Some found it hard to adjust to a land without danger, and channelling martial prowess into dance seems one of the safer ways to help along such adjustment.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No one who has seen Fingon and Maedhros sword dance at dawn could claim that it is not, even in its deadliness, a beautiful expression of trust and growth – that which was once used for violence turned into pure art and grace.</em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Finrod may be ever so slightly drunk. Nothing else would account for him lying on his back in Elrond’s garden, staring up at the stars with Eärendil (not currently a star) singing softly to himself next to him.</p>
<p>The hobbits may be on to something with this whole ‘birthday celebration’ thing. Also, their methods of brewing alcohol.</p>
<p>The stars seem to be winking at him, glittering high and warm up above. Even if the brightest of them all is missing this night.</p>
<p>“Do stars dance?” he asks, surprising himself with how non-slurred his speech is. Then again, Galadriel had always said his vocal function is the last to go, though when she says it, it sounds more like “nothing can shut you up, not even alcohol”.</p>
<p>Eärendil stops singing, turning his head to stare at Finrod with slightly hazy eyes that shine with the light of the Silmaril even when he isn’t wearing it. He seems to be trying to determine whether Finrod is serious.</p>
<p>“I dance,” he finally says. “Did, just a few hours ago, in fact.”</p>
<p>Finrod remembers. Eärendil is an elf of many talents, dance <em>not</em> being the foremost among them. He attempts to point upward, only to find his arm possessed of unusual lassitude.</p>
<p>“Up there, in the sky,” he elaborates. “A pre-destined course set by Varda.”</p>
<p>Eärendil’s brow furrows as he thinks about it. “I’ve not heard it put like that.” He looks up again, to the stars that are sometimes his companions. “Perhaps there’s something in it.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Findaráto’s notes on Telerin dance customs:</em>
</p>
<ul>
<li><em>Dances of the Teleri revolve around the sea, like many of their customs</em></li>
<li><em>Two notable subtypes: shipboard dances and beach dances (does dance-like synchronised swimming count? Should investigate)</em></li>
<li><em>The sound of the sea is the only accompaniment for many dances, though instruments are by no means discouraged (see: the famous Teleri conch orchestra)</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Finrod finds his mother in the garden. She’s long used to his non-sequiturs, so he gets right into it.</p>
<p>“If you had to describe Telerin dancing in one word, which would you choose?”</p>
<p>Eärwen looks up from the sprig of lavender she’s patting into place in the flowerbed below the kitchen window. Her silver hair catches the sun, glittering with every movement.</p>
<p>“Symbiotic,” she says, with barely a pause to think. “Teleri, we dance with the waves. In the waves, sometimes. Do you remember the celebration when Olwë opened the new harbour?”</p>
<p>Finrod nods. He’d been young then, but elves do not forget. And it <em>had </em>been a spectacle, blossoms given to the water and a line of Teleri dancing in the shallows of the sea, accompanied only by Ulmo in his element.</p>
<p>Eärwen smiles fondly. “You hadn’t even reached your name choosing, you barely reached up to my hip, and all you wanted was to join the dancers.” She reaches out and smooths her hand through Finrod’s hair, avoiding the braids to keep them ordered. “You learned early how to make yourself popular with your relatives. Olwë almost kidnapped you after that.”</p>
<p>Some people might’ve been embarrassed to hear such a recollection of their youngest days, but Finrod only smiles. He knows that memories like this sustained his parents through the years of their children’s exile and death and doesn’t begrudge them.</p>
<p>“You learned everything you ever need to know about the way Teleri dance that day.” She stands, drawing Finrod close so she can press a kiss to his forehead. “Now shoo and let me finish this before your father gets back from Ingwë’s.”</p>
<p>Finrod shoos.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Findaráto’s notes on Vanyarin dance customs:</em>
</p>
<ul>
<li><em>In my considered opinion, Vanyarin dance is the closest elves ever come to flying like birds (exempting Elwing, who seems to have no trouble with it whatsoever)</em></li>
<li><em>Some of the hardest dances to learn if not acquainted with it from a young age (because it is, in fact, very hard to get used to being thrown into the air – and safely caught again of course, but still)</em></li>
<li><em>When not engaging in death-defying acrobatics, Vanyar are fond of dance processions; most festivals feature at least one winding its way through the larger streets of Valmar</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Finrod has seen plenty of Vanyarin dances, particularly the endlessly elegant processions in town squares accompanied by their famed choirs, so when he seeks out his grandmother he comes armed with a similar amount of knowledge as he had approached his mother with.</p>
<p>He also brings some skeins of nice Telerin yarn for stitching that he spotted in the markets of Alqualondë. The sound of the ocean is caught in every strand, so subtle even an elf has to bring it close to an ear to hear it, but unique nonetheless.</p>
<p>Indis receives it with a small smile, fingers gliding over the strands as she evaluates the yarn, and listens silently as Finrod lays out his questions. As long as he has known her, Indis has been remote and taciturn, with an underlying warmth for her family that one has to know her well to perceive. Even after all these years he still doesn’t know how much of it is simply her character and how much the tragedy that had befallen them all when Valinor was darkened and her stepson set off on his quest for revenge had changed her forever.</p>
<p>“You would be better off asking Ingwion,” she tells him when Finrod has fallen silent. “He has taken up dance choreography recently.”</p>
<p>‘Recently’, in elvish terms, could be anything from the last few months to a few millennia, but given the Vanyarin tendency to be even less tethered to reality than the other branches of the Quendi, Finrod suspects in this case it means at least several hundred years.</p>
<p>“If he has the time to see me, I will certainly do so.” He pauses, studying the expression on Indis’ face. “Do you not like to dance?”</p>
<p>Her needle stills over the tunic she’s embroidering. “I have not danced in a long time. Not since – ”</p>
<p>Her voice trails off in quiet pain and Finrod can fill in the rest of the sentence well enough. He stays a while longer to chat about other things, but he doesn’t bring up dancing again.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on second and third age elven dance customs:</em>
</p>
<ul>
<li><em>A curious mixture of the dance cultures of previous elven realms</em></li>
<li><em>For the most part much less ritualised, even loose in style</em></li>
<li><em>Influences from other races more readily apparent</em></li>
<li><em>Must get a few elves to demonstrate one of these days – it all sounds delightful</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Artanis – no, Galadriel, he needs to remember now (he’s developing a smidgeon of sympathy for all the people who insist on calling him Findaráto still, despite his preference; just a smidgeon, though – they should know better and have all the time in the world to learn) – pokes her head through the door of his study.</p>
<p>“One of these days I will find you suffocated under a pile of papers, brother,” she tells him, with no small amount of fondness. “Imagine how embarrassing the entire affair would be, your family having to petition Mandos for your second return.”</p>
<p>“Good thing I have not yet ceased breathing,” he returns, waving her into the room. “What brings you to my humble abode this evening?”</p>
<p>She raises a brow. “Can I not simply come to visit?”</p>
<p>Finrod grins. “<em>That</em> is usually my line.”</p>
<p>Galadriel makes a face that says ‘and well I know it’ without sacrificing any syllables to it and gestures to his desk. “So, what is your current fascination? I thought you finished your treatise on accent development in remote communities.”</p>
<p>“I did. I recently found some of my notes on dance traditions and” – he gestures at the mess around him – “here we are. Actually, while you are here, you might as well answer some questions. I gather Imladris turned into something of a hotchpotch, to my nephew’s credit. Did Lórien remain Doriathrin in tradition?”</p>
<p>“We had too many Laiquendi for that. They dance with the trees, did you know? Very slow, and always with the wind. It can take days for a dance to finish.”</p>
<p>Finrod is already scribbling. “Describe one to me?”</p>
<p>Galadriel smiles, her ‘I’m indulging my strange older brother whom I nonetheless love’ smile.</p>
<p>It’s a very useful smile.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Gil-galad squints at him. “Are you here to ask me about dance practices in Lindon?”</p>
<p>“Ask a handful of people a couple of questions and suddenly people think I can’t just visit my nephew, without ulterior motives,” Finrod complains, placing a hand over his heart, but Gil-galad knows him well enough to recognise the laughter in his eyes.</p>
<p>Gil-galad’s eyes narrow.</p>
<p>Finrod, who grew up with one terrifying uncle, another slightly less terrifying uncle and a whole brood of ravenous cousins, not to mention his own dear, assertive sister, and literally died wrestling with a werewolf, only grins.</p>
<p>“I miss the days when that used to work on the people around me,” Gil-galad sighs.</p>
<p>Finrod pats his arm sympathetically. “It’s because you barely had any family around. I expect it didn’t work on Elrond. Or Celebrimbor.”</p>
<p>“It worked on Celebrimbor when he was having a guilty day, but we tried not to take advantage of those.”</p>
<p>Finrod inclines his head. “As you should not.”</p>
<p>It reminds him of the child Gil-galad had once been, quiet and a little sober as he grew into a war they were losing and yet shockingly enthusiastic about shadowing Finrod as he went about his day; to the point that Finrod had started teaching him the ways of kingship – bureaucracy, politics, logistics – without ever consciously deciding to. Gil-galad soaked the information up like a sponge – and evidently done a much better job putting it all into practice than the majority of kings the Noldor had gone through.</p>
<p>Leaving that child behind had been one of his greater regrets as he set off on a quest which he had already foretold would cost his life.</p>
<p>They do not end up talking about dancing in Lindon, but Finrod counts the time they while away talking of this and that well-spent indeed.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on Gondolindrim dance customs:</em>
</p>
<ul>
<li><em>The most ‘classical’ style in Beleriand, most reminiscent of pre-exile Valinorean styles</em></li>
<li><em>Rigid step adherence</em></li>
<li><em>Emphasis on partner or triad dances</em></li>
<li><em>It all sounds very Turgon</em></li>
</ul>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Finrod had actually been looking for Ecthelion, but when it’s Glorfindel who lets him into their shared house he doesn’t protest (he doesn’t know exactly what arrangement Ecthelion, Glorfindel and Erestor have worked out between themselves and is regretfully aware that it’s not precisely his business either, despite his curiosity). He hasn’t had much opportunity to talk to the elf who went to Middle-earth twice and finds himself curious. He puts his harp to the side – brought along just in case Ecthelion felt like a duet; far too many elves are string players, so it’s always a treat to make music with a flautist for a change – and accepts the glass of juice Glorfindel offers him.</p>
<p>Finrod observes the other elf moving through the kitchen and amuses himself with the thought that to anyone else, the two of them in one room probably makes for such overwhelming <em>blondness </em>that sensitive eyes would smart, which is usually only a complaint he gets when out with members of his immediate family.</p>
<p>Before he can start in on any of the questions any returned elf probably wants to throw at Glorfindel – there was a time that Finrod would have given an arm and a leg to return to Middle-earth after his death, and he knows what he’s talking about on that score – Glorfindel inquires, “What brought you here?”</p>
<p>“I was hoping to ask Ecthelion about dancing in Gondolin,” Finrod explains with a shrug, patting his harp. “But I can ask Turgon. I know he doesn’t like talking about Gondolin but it’s part – ”</p>
<p>“<em>Don’t </em>ask Turgon,” Glorfindel interrupts, sharpness directed at Finrod swiftly subsuming into a far-away look in his eyes. “Gondolin fell on The Gates of Summer. Everyone who wasn’t on the walls waiting for the sun to rise was assembled on the greens below, dancing. And then the fire came. Some were still dancing when they fell in the first wave.”</p>
<p>Finrod closes his eyes, facing the sorrowful image conjured in his mind without flinching before he banishes it. “I didn’t know,” he says quietly. “Turgon doesn’t talk about that day.”</p>
<p>Glorfindel’s gaze is clear again when he meets Finrod’s gaze, nodding his acceptance.</p>
<p>“He carries much blame on his shoulders, deserved and undeserved both. I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to broach the topic with <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>The subtle emphasis has Finrod raising his brows. “Because I was such a successful king? That’s hardly the truth.”</p>
<p>Glorfindel shrugs. “Nargothrond fell long after your death. You can debate the effects of your decision to aid Lúthien and Beren on your realm, but in that specific regard you’re doing rather better than most of the Noldor kings in Beleriand.”</p>
<p>All things considered, that’s not such a high bar to clear and Finrod is less certain than Glorfindel that the manner of his leaving (and subsequent demise) didn’t have far-reaching consequences for the realm he abandoned, but he holds his tongue.</p>
<p>A beam of sun falls through the high window, casting a pattern of colours over them both through the stained glass.</p>
<p>“Have you danced since?” Finrod asks quietly.</p>
<p>“Danced? Yes, of course.” Glorfindel shakes his head a little, the little silver bells braided in his hair chiming gently. “But none of the dances of Gondolin. I do not believe those will ever be seen again in these lands.”</p>
<p>Finrod nods his understanding, bittersweet though it is, and steers the conversation into more pleasant territory. Glorfindel, it turns out, has very eloquent opinions on the influences of older styles of architecture on the building of Imladris – a place that blends old and new in many forms.</p>
<p>When Finrod leaves a few hours later, he makes a mental note not to ask any of the Gondolindrim about dancing unless they initiate the conversation – healing is hard enough without well-meaning people accidentally re-opening old wounds.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on Falathrim dance customs:</em>
</p>
<ul>
<li><em>Like the Teleri, the Falathrim dance with the ocean (anything else would really have been a shock at this point)</em></li>
<li>
<em>Unlike the Teleri, they are surprisingly secretive on the topic; I have concluded many of their dances serve the worship of Oss</em>ë<em> and Uinen in particular</em>
</li>
<li><em>As distant kin, I was allowed to observe one dance from a distance (this was before the truth of the kinslaying became widely-known in Beleriand, alas) – that dance seemed to operate in quintuplets, five dancers forming a one; water was used to create accompanying arcs and the dance incorporated light reflections</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Círdan, completely coincidentally, always seems to be out sailing when Finrod comes by.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on Khazâd dance customs:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>As with many aspects of their culture, dwarves do not leap to share details of their dance customs with anyone, even before the days in which elves and dwarves were sundered through ill deeds on both sides. It took long acquaintance and considerable time spent getting educated in their true passion of stoneworking and metalworking for my dwarf friend Lofi to explain to me that dwarves really only dance on specific occasions, and that each occasion calls for a different dance. While she did describe a victory dance to me, nothing could entice her to reveal the kind of dancing engaged in at weddings, perhaps, or namedays.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>From what I could gather, Khazâd dances are intensely pattern-driven, the individual less important than the collective picture the entire dance group makes. Many dances recreate geometric shapes in rhythmic pulses and can thus only be fully appreciated from a bird’s-eye view.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The newest – and most exciting – residents of Valinor have made their home at a fairly out of the way mountainside, where forest climbs rocky slopes. The place is a study in compromise – a small underground dwelling has been excavated in the stone, connected to the trees with a porch-like structure. The biggest of the trees, a large mallorn, bears a medium-sized flet. Finrod’s expectations are already high after what Galadriel has told him of these two, but this arrangement is beyond what he would have hoped for.</p>
<p>On the porch, in a very hobbitish rocking chair, sits a dwarf. Despite his advanced age, braided hair more white than red, he gives off an impression of sturdiness and there’s a glint in his lively eyes as he watches Finrod approach.</p>
<p>The first words that come out of Gimli Glóinsson’s mouth are: “So you are the Lady Galadriel’s brother then?”</p>
<p>Finrod bows with a pleased flourish. It’s refreshing to be known as his excellent sister’s brother, not as ‘the one who died biting a werewolf to death in Middle-earth’ (or the Crown Prince).</p>
<p>“I am indeed. She speaks fondly of you.”</p>
<p>Red sweeps over Gimli’s cheeks, which Finrod elects not to mention. Plenty of people have that reaction to Galadriel.</p>
<p>Instead he adds a proper greeting in what is probably passable but horribly old-fashioned Khuzdul.</p>
<p>Gimli’s expression lights up.</p>
<p>“Not many elves could’ve managed that,” he says in Sindarin that is far better, and probably much more up to date, than Finrod’s Khuzdul. Than Finrod’s Sindarin, too, come to think of it, since the last time he spoke the language with any frequency was several thousand years ago. At least these days there are enough Sindar around that he gets to practice occasionally.</p>
<p>“I had a good teacher, a long time ago,” Finrod returns, smiling. “Though I expect usage has moved on from then.”</p>
<p>Gimli laughs, his whole body moving with his mirth. “You sound like a dwarf from the old legends. Which, I suppose, is more or less accurate. I’m surprised you were taught at all, in truth – we don’t tend to share our language with outsiders.”</p>
<p>“There was no such hesitance then,” Finrod says. “Though Lofi did say that many dwarves were frustrated by how few of us <em>wanted </em>to learn Khuzdul, much less put in the time to do so properly. Over time that may have morphed into reluctance to try and teach anyone.”</p>
<p>“Particularly elves,” Gimli agrees with a grunt. Finrod can’t imagine it would’ve been easy for him, to share such a deep bond with an elf. “The division there ran deep.”</p>
<p>“I was saddened to hear of it when I returned from Mandos.” Finrod shakes his head. “One of Morgoth’s worse deeds, I believe, to have turned races who should have been all but kin from one another.”</p>
<p>“No argument from me there.” Gimli shrugs, drawing a pipe out of his coat and beginning the process of stuffing it with pipeweed. It’s a habit Finrod has only newly encountered when the hobbits arrived, and he can’t say it’s grown on him since. He discreetly shifts further upwind.</p>
<p>“Things are getting better now, with Sauron gone, but the elves are leaving, so…” He waves a hand. “And I am here, in a land of legends, talking to the delver of Nargothrond. Can’t say my father was entirely wrong when he warned me of the strange things that happen around elves.”</p>
<p>Evidently satisfied with his preparations, Gimli lights his pipe and takes a deep puff. Then he turns keen eyes on Finrod.</p>
<p>“They warned me about you, you know. The word ‘nosy’ may have come up once or twice.”</p>
<p>Finrod raises his hands in a gesture of innocence, the corner of his lips twitching. “I would argue for ‘curious’, personally, but they aren’t altogether wrong. Which, naturally, begs the question whether you’re willing to talk about Khazâd dances with me.”</p>
<p>“Dances?” Gimli raises an impressively bushy eyebrow.</p>
<p>“My current preoccupation,” Finrod confirms easily. “I find having an actual question makes for a good excuse to visit people I might otherwise not cross paths with. Instead of mere gawking curiosity it’s <em>targeted </em>curiosity.”</p>
<p>Gimli stares at him for a few long moments, brows drawn together. Then his face clears and he barks out a laugh. “You’re a dangerous one! No wonder you managed to charm beings of every race, if the stories are to be believed.”</p>
<p>Finrod cocks his head, wondering whether he’s ever going to stop being surprised at the kind of exaggeration centuries of change can bring to the story of his life. “As far as I am aware, I never charmed an orc, nor any other servants of the enemy.”</p>
<p>Sauron had been… intrigued, vicious, darkly amused by his struggles, perhaps, but not charmed.</p>
<p>Sensing the turn in mood, Gimli redirects the conversation. “So what do you already know of dwarven dancing? I expect you asked those you knew in ages past.”</p>
<p>Glad of the distraction – even in the fair land of Valinor the shadow occasionally still falls over his memories – Finrod unearths the relevant notebook from his satchel and hands it over.</p>
<p>Gimli looks over Finrod’s notes, nodding at several points and hmming to himself.</p>
<p>Eventually he closes the notebook and looks up. “You have the gist of it, but I could draw you some diagrams to demonstrate a few patterns. Go get some papers from in there, be a good lad.”</p>
<p>Finrod halts for a moment, wondering whether it’s worth pointing out that he’s several <em>thousand </em>years older than this dwarf who just called him ‘lad’, then decides that would doubtless get him nowhere and goes to find paper instead.</p>
<p>Neither of them notices, two hours later, when Legolas steps out of the woods, takes one look at the two people bent over a myriad of scattered papers, and beats a silent retreat.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Excerpt from Finrod’s notes on Entish dance customs:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Respondents: one Willowtrail, young Ent encountered upon travelling in Nan-Tathren, before the shadow grew</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I spent two whole years among the Ents of the south of Beleriand, which was still far too little time to truly be educated in Entish customs. Ents do not commit to saying anything quickly, not even to my determinedly charming self (Ents do not go in for being charmed in general, it seems to me, unless the first buds of a tree in spring are involved).</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Observations: Entish dancing exclusively accompanies story-telling. It would almost be like a theatric play, if it were not so very slow and drawn-out. It takes a very long time indeed to say anything in Entish, much less tell a whole story, and the dancers move with the exquisite slowness appropriate to accompany such a recitation. No instrumental accompaniment could be heard, save for the wind in the leaves and the various sounds of nature, which they somehow manage to incorporate into the performance. The one dance I witnessed took several weeks to complete.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>While Finrod has spent considerable time looking, there appear to be no Ents in Valinor, unless perhaps hidden in the depths of Yavanna’s forests.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Visits from Elrond aren’t unprecedented, but still unusual enough that Finrod looks up from the latest complaint that has landed on his desk – a Telerin merchant taking exception to ‘noise disruption’ from a Noldor’s neighbouring stall – with some surprise.</p>
<p>“Elrond! Is all well?”</p>
<p>Elrond inclines his head, with a small smile. He still carries an air of sombreness about him, taught over centuries of toil in Middle-earth and reinforced by the separation from his children, but Finrod reckons he has seen a little bit of an easing in him lately; the subtle powers of the Blessed Land at work. Or perhaps it’s the much more straight-forward power of Celebrían.</p>
<p>“I am merely a messenger today,” Elrond informs him, and there’s <em>definitely </em>a twinkle in his eye. “Frodo and Bilbo wish to see you.”</p>
<p>Finrod’s eyebrows twitch. Invitations from the hobbits arrive often enough, but they don’t usually send <em>Elrond Peredhel</em> to deliver them. He also notes that Elrond isn’t moving, clearly expecting something further.</p>
<p>“Now?” Finrod ventures, settling his quill so it won’t drip ink on the complaint (much as it deserves it).</p>
<p>Elrond nods again, the twinkle intensifying. For all that Finrod enjoys seeing it, it’s somewhat disconcerting to find it directed at himself.</p>
<p>“Hobbits are a hasty folk. Or so someone very wise once told me.”</p>
<p>Well, it’s not like he was enjoying dealing with the kind of petty complaints that lingering resentment over mostly healed divides give rise to.</p>
<p>He stands, gesturing for Elrond to precede him out the door. “In that case, lead on.”</p>
<p>Elrond, sneaky young fellow that he is, had brought Finrod’s mare to the town house alongside his own steed, countering Finrod’s raised eyebrow with a deceptively innocent expression. Astar nickers in greeting and he pats her glossy neck, mounting without further commentary.</p>
<p>It’s a pleasant journey from Tirion to Tol Eressëa, when the weather is fine and the company is finer. Elrond, through long years of educating young elves and men and answering endless questions from visiting folk, has much patience for Finrod’s inquiries and seems pleased to elaborate on Glorfindel’s thoughts about the architecture of Imladris.</p>
<p>The topic carries them through the Calacirya and to the shore, until they get briefly diverted by Telerin wave singing while on the ferry to the island.</p>
<p>Tol Eressëa lies green and inviting under the strong sun, which may account for the suspiciously large number of elves making the crossing with them.</p>
<p>It does <em>not </em>account for the crowd of people gathered around the Hobbits’ home on the far side of the island. The large lawn that lies to one side of their dwelling is full of mingling elves, most of whom Finrod recognises. Galadriel is unmistakeable, leaning against the trunk of the majestic tree in the middle of the grass – which the Hobbits have named ‘party tree’ for unknown, presumably nostalgic reasons – conversing with their mother and father, and to his surprise, their grandmother Indis. He spots Turgon with Ecthelion, Glorfindel and Erestor. A flash of white hair is Gimli, next to Legolas, who seems to be talking to Fingon. Celebrimbor and Gil-galad are skulking near the table groaning under the weight of hobbit-approved foot items.</p>
<p>Finrod turns to Elrond to get some answers as to exactly what’s happening before he gets distracted trying to identify every single elf here, but Elrond has left his side, leading his horse to a quieter area to graze.</p>
<p>Astar deserves the same, so Finrod starts after him, only to be intercepted by Frodo and Bilbo.</p>
<p>“Allow me,” Frodo says, looking strangely boyish as he reaches for Astar’s reins. It makes for a comical sight, the small hobbit and the tall horse, but the two have met before and no elven steed would harm an innocent, so Finrod only nods.</p>
<p>“What do you think?” Bilbo wants to know, sweeping his arm to encompass the assembly.</p>
<p>Finrod, still somewhat baffled, smiles. “A fine gathering of people. Are you celebrating another birthday?”</p>
<p>“No, no, didn’t Elrond tell you?” Bilbo doesn’t leave him time to reply, barrelling right on. “We organised this for you – you’ve been running around gathering all those facts about dancing for the last while, and you helped so nicely with Elrond’s birthday party, that we thought we should do something nice for you. So, dancing!”</p>
<p>Finrod blinks through the onslaught of words. “You… organised a dance party for me?”</p>
<p>Bilbo beams. “You can’t go writing about dancing without doing any yourself, now can you?” he points out sensibly.</p>
<p>He’s not wrong, either.</p>
<p>“It is a kind thought, Bilbo,” he says, smiling. “I thank you.”</p>
<p>Bilbo waves it off. “Everyone else helped. Now, what dance do you want to try first? We did our best to get experts from all the different elven folk in and we’ve got a few hobbit dances lined up too. Ingwion has helped us plan, nice lad.”</p>
<p>Even as his smile widens, Finrod can only wonder how they managed to involve the <em>High Prince of the Eldar</em> in this. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised – hobbits on a mission are a force to be reckoned with.</p>
<p>“Let’s start with Vanyarin dances then,” he suggests, and promptly finds himself whirled away by many hands.</p>
<p>A group of musicians with accompanying choir strike up one of the less sombre Vanyarin ballads and Finrod loses himself in the melody, the movement of his body to the rhythm, his heart beating in time with the music.</p>
<p>A laugh flows from his lings as he soars through the air, thrown by the deceptively strong Glorfindel, and is caught safely by Galadriel on the other side.</p>
<p>He has the observations, the first-hand accounts – but nothing quite beats practical research.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
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